


Hors de Combat

by kosame



Series: Pas de Deux [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 17th Century, Drama, F/M, Genderswap, Historical, Marriage, Reunions, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosame/pseuds/kosame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Denmark returns home from war, but faces a different kind of battle with her husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hors de Combat

Norway hadn't thought he'd be able to sleep, but he must have drifted off, for he was roused by the shout of the guard on lookout. His senses returned slowly to him as his body insisted he had not had enough rest yet, but the rumble of the horses reverberated deep in his chest, connecting him to the waking world. Lurching to the window of his office as soon as his body would respond to his commands for movement, he ignored the ache in his back and the crick in his neck that had come from sleeping in his hard, wood chair. The courtyard was empty yet, but he could see the great gates being opened to welcome their army home.

Cloak forgotten in his haste to descend the stairs, the cold bit into his skin even through his thick clothes. It was a welcome distraction, though, from the churning of his stomach. Word would only have been sent in the event of death, and since Denmark could not die, it had been a long time since he'd had even a scrap of news. Plenty of dangers awaited a soldier on the battlefield other than death, and it was only the barest comfort to know she would return to him alive.

The wait was paradoxically both an eternity and an instant before he finally glimpsed his wife, riding in the middle of the company. Her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed in the cold, but she also looked bone-weary, her skin too pale against the vivid red of her colors and the dark streaks of dirt crisscrossing her face.

More and more people come to congratulate and celebrate their triumphant return were joining him at the edges of the courtyard. Though they'd already had word of Dano-Norwegian victory and the negotiation of a peace treaty, it only became real now that the army was home. The nervous energy gathered among them started to climb, vibrating faster and rising up into jubilation.

Norway could see the exact moment Denmark noticed him in the sea of onlookers. The smile she perpetually wore broke out into a wide grin, obscuring the shadows of exhaustion that had been there before. The ball of worry in his chest contracted just a little bit, seeing her light up like that, but would not be excised completely until he could verify she was uninjured.

The gates closed behind the last of the troops, and the crowd let out a cheer. Soldiers began dismounting, their wives and children rushing to them. Denmark slid to the ground as well, but Norway hung back. Leaving her horse with a hostler, she approached him slowly, and as he watched her, he could see the pain in every movement.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" she joked when she stood a few paces in front of him, spreading her arms wide in question. Her voice was weak, though, missing the boisterous energy she always seemed to have in endless supply.

It was hard to hold himself back, not to rush forward and pour nearly two years worth of worry and yearning into a crushing embrace. Instead, he closed the distance between them in swift steps and cupped her face with both hands. His flat tone matched neither the clamorous roiling of his emotions nor the gentle circles he was drawing on her cheeks with his thumbs. "You look like hell."

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her touch matching his in tenderness. "You don't look so hot yourself." It was too much, that she would compare the bags under his eyes to whatever injuries she had brought back with her. A near-growl of displeasure escaped his throat as he pulled one of her arms over his shoulders to support her and dragged her off for their chambers. "Whoa, Norge--" she said in surprise, nearly tripping over her feet in shock.

"I can carry you, if that would be better," he ground out, not pausing in their march into the castle except to get the attention of a passing maid. "Bring me a washbasin of cold water and a good number of rags. Set some water to boil, and bring that as well as some bandages when it's ready." The girl hurried off to do as he'd asked, and they set off at a clip again.

"I can walk on my own, you know," Denmark complained.

He didn't have the words to convey how angry and tired and _scared_ he was, but Denmark seemed to understand nevertheless. She didn't say another word until they arrived at their rooms and he began divesting her of her cloak.

"Oh, so you _did_ miss me," she said as her doublet joined her hat and gloves on the floor, but it fell flat even as it left her lips.

"Where are you hurt?" Norway demanded, tugging open the laces of her shirt.

"They're just scratches, Norge," she said with exasperation even as she obediently let him tug off the shirt and the sleeveless undershirt beneath.

He frowned as he took her in, noting that the bandages she used to bind her breasts went down too far, covering the top of her stomach as well. There was another band of white cloth tied around her upper right arm. He took her wrist carefully and turned her arm over, hissing when he saw blood had soaked through the far side. They were interrupted by the maid bringing the water and rags he'd requested before she could respond to his accusing stare.

She must have felt a little guilty, though, as she let him sit her down on the bed and start scrubbing at her face. "Ack, that's cold!"

"Hold still," Norway responded, working on a particularly difficult smudge on her nose. He focused his attention entirely on cleaning the dirt away so he didn't have to think about anything.

Of course, Denmark and silence were anathema to each other, and she could only sit still so long before her chatter began again. "Saw Sve. She was beautiful up on her horse in her colors." Norway's hand froze, involuntarily squeezing the rag. "I enjoyed pulling her down off it and grinding her into the mud," she continued with a smirk.

Surprising even himself, Norway surged forward and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. One of her hands came up to tangle in his hair (the left, he noted), and even though he tried to get himself to pull away, he couldn't even after it turned into two, then three kisses. Even after he finally did work up the willpower, he still lingered close to her, rubbing his nose against hers. It was cold.

"Was that because you also wanted to see Sve in the mud, or because I said she was beautiful?" Denmark asked after a moment. Norway pulled away quickly at that as though from a hot stove.

"Both," he said quietly, turning his washing on her left arm. He hadn't really harbored any ill-will towards Sweden before: he understood perfectly well how one might chafe under the rule of Danish kings. Being nearly as strong as Denmark herself, it must have been even worse for her. After this war, however, he was feeling decidedly less charitable. Between what she had done to him and how she had taken Denmark away to fight yet another war, it was getting to be too much. He didn't hate her yet, but he saw the capacity for it growing in himself, and he couldn't quite find the will to be upset about it.

"Listen, Norge," Denmark said, and her voice sounded like was trying to gather as much of the power behind it there usually that she still had the energy to produce. "I know we weren't on the best of terms when I left."

He couldn't suppress a snort. That was an understatement.

"It's something we'll have to have out sometime soon, because I imagine that you haven't changed your mind, and neither have I."

Still staring resolutely at her arm, he shook his head. His position has only been reinforced in his mind over their long separation.

"I'd have to ask if the fairies had bewitched you otherwise," she said with a fond sigh. "But there's something else. I didn't think you'd want to hear it back then, but these long months have left me desperate to share with you this truth." Initially he was annoyed as she turned her arm over in the circle of this grip, but after a few seconds, he realized she was offering her hand for him to take. Her grip was firm and warm, and she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. "I really do love you."

The small motions of comfort on his hand didn't stop through the few second of silence that followed. "I don't know whether to kiss you or punch you," he finally said, bringing a carefully neutral gaze up to meet hers.

"I know which one _I'd_ go with."

Sighing, Norway resigned himself to having this conversation now, even though they were both exhausted, and she was injured besides. "Then put yourself in my place. When the girl brings the hot water, I'm going to have to change your bandages and see the gashes on your arm and your side--"

"There's one on my leg, too," Denmark interjected.

"I'm going to have to look at my wife's _wounds_ that she got fighting while I sat here, safe and useless."

"You're not useless!" she protested. "The most important thing for an army is for it to be well supplied and fed, and its pay current."

"There are experienced statesman who could do the job just as well as I," Norway countered. "They can no longer lift a sword, but I can."

Denmark shook her head violently, the few locks that had escaped her tight linen cap bouncing around her face. The look on her face was no longer the cold, inflexible denial that had closed her off from him the last time they'd argued this. Instead, she looked at him with wide eyes, as though she was pleading. Her teeth were worrying her bottom lip, as though to prevent her from saying something she didn't want to say.

"Are you suggesting I couldn't hold my own in battle?" he demanded, outraged.

"No, no. It's not your skill I'm worried about." Norway didn't understand. "It's your health." She said it gently, as though that might make it easier to hear. She could probably see the humiliated flush rising in his face, because she quickly squeezed his hand and added, "You're not to blame for it, there's nothing to be ashamed about." It was something she'd said to him often when he'd been in the worst of it, in defiance of the many people who thought being sickly should precipitate opprobrium for a man.

He couldn't dispute what she was saying, but there had to be some way around it. "Then let me fight with you in the summer, and I'll return home without protest in the winter. I'd even be your quartermaster. Just don't make me stay behind again."

"Oh, my Norge," she said quietly, leaning forward and letting her head rest on his shoulder. "My brave, sweet Norge." He brought his free hand up around her back, careful to avoid her arm.

They stayed that way for a short while, listening to the quiet and each other's breaths, until a knock on the door forced Norway to leave the cocoon of their truce.

"Hot water and bandages, my Lord."

"Thank you," Norway said, taking the offered items almost reluctantly. He didn't want to see what lay under Denmark's bandages, and it showed in the sluggishness of his return. Stopping in the bedroom doorway, he watched her shimmy out of her breeches. There was a coil of linen running the length of her thigh, just as she'd said.

"I really don't think it's fair I'm the only one taking my clothes off, by the way," she announced.

"Injured girls should be quiet and let their devoted husbands tend to their wounds," he said, feeling the tiniest bubble of levity in his chest.

She made a spectacular face. "Fine, but I expect you to make it up to me later."

He set the basin and bandages on the bedside table and gave her promising kiss before deadpanning, "Maybe."

"I swear, you enjoy teasing me! It's been too long since I shared my bed with anyone but insects and rocks, don't get my hopes up if you intend to crush them."

Leaning close to her ear, he said in an undertone, "I would take you in my arms and throw you down on this bed this very instant." He pulled back and watched a pink blush spread across her cheeks. He had heard her speak in the most crude of terms with soldiers and tradesmen, and she had no qualms throwing innuendo at him, but for some reason to hear it back made her flustered. It was cute, and made his chest tighten with the strength of his affection for her. "But," he said, turning back to the task at hand, "the water would get cold."

"Let it," she breathed.

Tempting, but, "How you can lead troops into battle when you have the patience of a bird is beyond me."

Her head fell back and she laughed a deep, rich laugh. "God's wounds, but I missed this. I missed you." She perched on the bed again, and began unwrapping the dressing on her leg. He didn't say it back, but he did kiss her knee before gently setting to work on her leg. He could tell that it hurt from the way she drew a breath in through her teeth, but after the initial sting, she leaned backward on her hands and mused, "Ah, war is hell. Maybe I'll try to make it a little more bearable next time by luring a dashing young quartermaster into an affair."

Norway attempted to hide a small smile, before thinking better of it and reaching up to kiss her exposed neck, her own grin. He pulled her coif off entirely, carding his fingers through her short hair. She tried to follow him as he moved away, but he stubbornly went back to bandaging her leg.

"Work faster," she groaned.

"You're so demanding," he griped in return, but with no real bite to it. Then, just to be malicious, he ran his fingertips along the inside of her other thigh.

She jumped at the touch and gasped. "You're wicked!" Flopping down on her back, she lamented to the bedposts, "My husband is a wicked, wicked man!"

Since it was true, he didn't bother disputing it, climbing up on the bed next to her and unwrapping the linen wound around her arm.

She smiled up at him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Author's Note:**

> The Kalmar War was fought between Denmark-Norway and Sweden from 1611-1613. Sweden decided that if Denmark was going to tax the only trade route out to the North Sea/Atlantic, then they'd just have to take over part of Norway and make a new sea route. This did not go over well in Denmark-Norway, as you may imagine. Other countries interfered and brought the war to an end before any crushing defeats could be handed out, but it was basically a Dano-Norwegian victory, although Sweden did get an exemption from that tax.
> 
> The black death decimated Norway in the 14th Century, which is apparently how it ended up in union with Denmark in the first place.


End file.
